Mr & Mrs Johnson: AE
by Penelope Grace
Summary: (Abandoned.) Part 2 of Mr and Mrs Johnson. Once again, based on a Tumblr post. An alternative part to the main fanfic. Hellfire!Ward and Quake!Skye. Fun stuff. And of course, it is inspired by Mr and Mrs Smith. It's all going to burn.
1. Reconnection

**Alright, here we go. I know that my writing is definitely slower, and that is mostly because I'm so swamped by work, my original novel, and a crazy cat emergency (don't ask). So here we go. Quake!Skye and Hellfire!Ward. It's definitely going to be much different from the other version of Mr. & Mrs. Johnson. If you don't want to read this one, then you can continue on reading with the main fic, Mr. & Mrs. Johnson. I'm sure you can all find that one. **

**Also, the beginning of this fanfic is in Mr. & Mrs. Johnson. You're going to need to read it to understand this. **

**So here we go.**

* * *

Skye pats down her body, her pockets, her thin dress. Nothing. No more ammunition for her guns. Once again, she drops down another one of Grant's guns. Now, she can only rely on her Glock 19s. Not many rounds, however. 17. Each.

She grips one of her Glock 19s, and then she shoots out the green-colored wall in hot fury. Insulting her short hair… Why doesn't Grant realize that insulting a woman's features is never a good thing to do? Every woman will be pissed off. Enough to burn the world and everything in it. Her gun jams, and she curses him. She's out again. And she is down to her last gun.

Of course… she doesn't need to use her gun to fight.

She fires her remaining Glock 19 at the ceiling. "Grant…" she sings, a bit mockingly. She glances back and forth. Where is he?

Out of seemingly nowhere, Grant sends her sprawling to the ground. She instantly knocks the gun out of his hand with her feet, and he forces her to let go of her remaining Glock. It slides across the wood floors and into the living room.

Out of sight.

Jumping up, she punches him in the face and hisses, "Not my hair!"

"Too late!" he shouts back. He roughly shoves her against the wall, and in the distance, beautiful china shatters into worthless pieces. The shelves fall over, and Skye quickly mourns the loss of so many plates. All gone, broken.

Well, at least she has warranty.

So that is a bit of a plus.

She knocks her head against his, and then she dashes towards the living room. Another one of her guns is hiding in there. In the fireplace. If she can just get to it…

Or… She can finally kill him. Using her own powers.

He grabs her feet, and she falls to the floor. With the casualness of a man drinking coffee on the sidewalk while watching cars pass by, he smiles down at her and happily remarks, "And now, you are on the—"

Whatever his sentence is, he doesn't finish it.

It's probably sexual in nature.

Thankful for the shortness of her minidress, Skye knocks him in the groin, and he falls to the floor. He loudly groans. She stands up and kicks him in the thighs for a good measure. With a grin and cuts all over her arms, she quips, "Who is your daddy now?"

Then he sweeps her off of her feet with a well-aimed kick at her ankles. She grabs whatever is nearby—a white towel—and pushes herself up. She throws it around his neck, yanks Grant forward, and satisfyingly knee him in the stomach. She slaps him in the face for a good measure. That sound is pure music to her ears.

Then he shoves her across the coffee table. Perfume-scented magazines fall over to the ground, and for a quick second, she realizes that it is her fashion magazines that are on the floor. She hasn't even read them yet, and they are ripped to pieces! She clenches her fist and rolls.

She finds herself on the couch, but she recovers quickly. She jumps up and over the couch. Skye rights herself and places her hands in front of herself. She finds Grant immediately in the same position, his hands sparkling. Glowing.

No, that's not exactly right. They are lighting up.

With fire.

* * *

Grant stares down at Skye, his breathing fast. His hands are brightened, and fire licks at his skin. He could feel the heat of them, yet he could only see Skye with her hands in front of her protectively. There is the memory of Trip telling him that she is not his wife. But looking at her shiny chocolate-colored eyes, he can't just deny that she is his wife. This is the same woman he married five years ago. This is the same woman he has dedicated himself to. And this is the same woman that has pulled him out of the darkness.

He knows what choice he'll make even before his body moves.

His mouth opens, and he shakes his head. "I can't. I can't do it."

Her jaw drops in surprise, and her hands… Her hands shake. In fear. In surprise. In horror. And he can't exactly blame her. It's the exact same way he felt when he first discovered this power.

The fire dies away, and he lets his hands fall to his side. He straightens out and breathes slowly. He lets out a calm breath, and he prepares himself. With resignation of the fact that he may never truly know Skye yet he loves her anyway, he tells her, "Kill me. With your hands. With the Glock. With whatever. I won't fight." A pause "You'll be free if you do." A pause. "Do it. I know you could."

"Come on!" yells Skye.

"Do it," he repeats, his voice soft. "Skye."

Skye's brown eyes water, and her hands slowly lowers. Making a quick decision, he crosses the distance between the pair and pulls her face against his. She immediately respond, and he breathes quickly. He hasn't felt this in a long, long time. Too long.

And oh, he has missed Skye for _years_.

How has he forgotten about her in the first place?

He pulls off her dress, tearing away at the rips. The pieces fall down to the couch, and there is nothing to kill or destroy here. There is just Skye, and she forces him to pull off his collared-shirt. He runs his hands through her too-short hair, and he just smiles as she leans down to kiss him again. He palms her back, running his hands over her hips. Then he kisses her on the shoulder as she runs her hands over the back of his neck.

She could use her hands to kill him right there, and he would die happy.

* * *

In the living room, she could hear a knock at the door. Moving out of Grant's arms, she quickly finds the nearest cover—the couch's blankets—and walks slowly to the door. She takes a peek through the hole and then opens it with a smile. "Hello? How may I help you, Mindy?" She nods at the police officer and quietly thinks of a good lie.

"Mrs. Johnson? We have reports of a loud commotion. Is there something going on?" asks the police officer, his hand on his hostler.

Skye chuckles, her cheeks heating up. "Well, we were watching a movie pretty loudly." She turns her head and shouts, "Honey!"

Grant silently paddles across the wood floors, and he peeks around the door with an awkward smile. His black tie is still on his neck, and he is dressed in white boxers. There are a few cuts here and there, but they aren't too bad. "Hey…" His eyes quickly narrow, and his muscles tense a little.

Skye turns back to the police officer and happily says, "It's okay. Everything is alright, Mindy." And as she says those words, she feels like everything is alright.

And she smiles.

* * *

They put on some not-so-torn clothes from the walk-in closet, and Grant could feel Skye's gaze as he cooks. Gripping his shoulders and resting her head on her back, Skye notes, "I should have been making you cook breakfast for the last six years."

"Five," he corrects with a chuckle.

"Five or six," she concedes.

He grins at her, and then he waves his hands. The fire quickly goes out, and Skye's eyes widen at that movement. Surprisingly, she doesn't ask—at least, not yet. Together, they eat an omelet out of the frying pan on the floors of the smoked kitchen. Skye pulls out orange juice, and they make some small talk.

Skye gestures to his hands. "So what happened there? How did you—?"

"Get this power?" Grant snorts, but he could remember the cave as clear as day. "It's a long story. But Whitehall, my boss, wanted me to find a weapon. Find it personally, because he didn't trust very many people to carry out top secret missions and such. So I managed to track this object called the Obelisk. A woman was trying to use it, and I followed her into the cave. Unfortunately, she was on Hydra's kill list." A pause. "You know what happened."

"You killed her."

"Yes," he acknowledges, closing his eyes. "It happened two years ago. Anyway, while I was cleaning up the mess, the cave… closed its door or something. I didn't know exactly what was happening, but the next thing I knew, my hands were turning to stone or something like that… I panicked and probably fainted too. When I woke up, all I could remember is fire. It took me a while to figure out how to control it, and I rarely used it, because if Whitehall finds out…"

"What would happen?" Skye tilts her head.

"He would experiment on me."

Silence.

Then Skye remarks, "The eggs are good."

More silence.

"So where do you think we are going from here?" asks Grant, shoving yellow eggs into his mouth. He stares as Skye leans her head against the wall, and she shrugs.

"I don't know," she replies.

"Well, we are going to redo every single conversation we ever had," suggests Grant, trying to start from the very beginning. That day in Egypt. He could probably think of hundreds of truths he has never admitted to Skye. "So anything? Any lies in our background?"

"Tons." Skye snorts. "My parents are…" She shrugs, and then she answers, "Well, my mother is dead."

"I'm sorry."

Stuffing eggs into her mouth, she shrugs again. Then she swallows. "Well, I had a few months with her. It wasn't much, but… it was something."

Grant can tell that there's something bothering her, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he offers up another little detail about himself. "I actually have three siblings. Not one."

"Not just Thomas?"

"Nope," he answers truthfully. He can think of his brother and his sister. He hasn't thought of them in a very long time, and he marvels at the last time he has seen them. It's only Thomas he really cares about, and it's only Thomas who he has seen most recently—just two weeks ago. "You know my older sister as Congresswoman Ward and my older brother as Senator Ward. My sister is of Rhode Island. My brother is of Massachusetts. Thomas and I try not to see their faces in the news."

"Wait…" Skye snaps her fingers. "Senator Christian Ward?"

"Yep," he confirms.

"Wow," she mouths.

* * *

Skye doesn't know which one is more shocking—the fact that Grant is an Inhuman or that he is related to a powerful family in Massachusetts. Senator Christian Ward is definitely a name thrown around Shield. Not very often, but more than Congresswoman Ward—whoever she is. But Senator Ward has an influence that can sway the Senate, which is definitely why DC is considering approaching him for some political power in Washington.

But the fire…

"You're related to him?" Skye shakes her head. "But there is no record…"

"Wiped clean," he says, nodding. "My parents and my other siblings like to pretend that Thomas and I have never existed. Oh, and Gamsie. Christian buried our files more than six feet deep, and he made sure that the press will never know our existence, much less what happened to Thomas and I. Hydra helped Thomas, Gamsie, and I build a whole new life. Another identity separate from the… Wards of New England." He huffs, a bit of resentment clear in his voice. "No one really remembers us anymore."

"Then how were you recruited by Hydra?"

But he doesn't answer. His eyes run over her head and widen. Moving quickly, he shoves her to the floor just as bullets rain over their heads.

* * *

 **Yeah. This is a bit similar to the other chapter in the sister fanfic, but it will start differing. The plot is going to diverge.**


	2. Battle

Hydra, quickly realizes Grant. It's Hydra. Sometimes, he really hates the very organization that has raised him from the early stages of his life and late stages of his teenage years. Tugging at Skye's wrist, he quickly crawls out of the kitchen, and he sighs with relief when he sees Skye relatively unharmed. Just aware and alert. They make it into the hallways, and they hide from the bullets.

Ignoring the gunfire and the sniper shots, he motions to the basement and then points upwards. Skye shakes her head, clearly not getting it.

She points to the basement door and makes a slashing movement at her throat. Then she mimics an explosion.

Grant quirks an eyebrow. He has no idea what that is supposed to mean.

Skye rolls her eyes and then physically drags him over to the basement door. She opens it, and they escape into the temporary safety of their basement. Grant walks down the stairs, and he goes to the toolbox underneath his dusty workstation. He hasn't been here for a while, especially when he prefers his toolshed over the basement, but he always has guns hiding around the house. Various places, various hiding spots.

Briefly glancing away from the bright red toolbox, Grant quickly checks his silver watch, and he curses himself. "They are right on time. Six o'clock, on the dot. They gave me forty-eight hours to kill you." He puts his hand down and unlatches the clasps. He pulls out a small revolver, that is thankfully armed. No box of bullets, unfortunately. He lets Skye have it and then pulls out a much larger gun.

She huffs. "Why do I get this little gun?"

He sighs. Then he takes it and gives her a bigger gun of large size. Very intimidating, he must add. Smith & Wesson Model 500. It has ridiculously huge calibers, but Skye should…

"What?" he says defensively, watching as Skye turns the gun over in her hands. Over and over and over again. Testing its weight with a peeved look on her face.

"This gun?" She raises an eyebrow and nods to the gun. "Smith and Wesson? You couldn't have gotten something a little more discreet? With a silencer?"

He rolls his eyes. "As if this is going to be discreet." With a pointed look, he snaps his finger. A small burst of flame appears from his very fingertips, and he adds, "That isn't discreet at all. How many people with special gifts are there?"

"Not many," answers Skye, quickly glancing away from his hand.

He extinguishes the flame with a little twist of his wrist, and he examines the tiny revolver. He tests its weight and begins to grow accustomed to its cool texture. Too many ounces too light, but he knows what he is doing. After all, he has been surviving for this many years. Fifteen, in fact.

Holding the Sam & Wesson in her hands—and Grant finds that weirdly attractive—she nods. "Okay. What is the plan here?"

"Let's see. Hydra will be after my head," he says, glancing around at the basement. He looks for the window, memorizing them again. There isn't anything that can be used as a weapon, and he so wishes that has a jet pack in here. Unfortunately, that is for highly dangerous missions—not home use. Whitehall would have his head for "borrowing" one from work. "My boss is going to be attacking everything I have ever known and everyone I have ever met. He thinks I have gone rogue."

A pause.

Then Skye asks, "Have you gone rogue?"

Swallowing a bit, he looks to the gun in his hand and then nods decisively. Moving towards the windows, he confirms, "I have."

Then the basement door opens, and something loud—something metal—clanks down the stairs. It lands by their feet, and Grant instantly recognizes it. Grenade.

Skye instantly kicks it, throws her hands out, and sends some weird vibration waves towards the explosion. Fire licks at an invisible wall, not exactly touching them nor affecting them. Grant could feel the heat of the flames, and he could recognize them as his own. Reaching his own hands towards the flames, he shouts at Skye, "I could absorb this!"

"I'm good!" she replies.

"How are you doing this?" he remarks, staring incredulously at the wall of fire and air. Relaxing when he realizes that Skye does have it under control, he asks, "When did this even happen?"

"Long story!" she yells. Then the flames die away, and she quickly runs towards the window. She opens it and hollers, "We have to get out of here!"

Like a climbing monkey, she slips outside, and he climbs out after her. They hide in the backyard, between a blueberry bush and the rose bushes. Grant points towards the driveway of a neighbor's house, and he mouths, we head there. Then he makes some motions with his hands, and he could see himself running towards Trip's mother's house and finding some brief refuge—

Skye shakes her head. She points towards the backyard and mimics something he doesn't even recognize. Rolling her eyes, she groans at his confusion. She repeats the hand motion.

Squinting at some weird wall she makes with her left hand and some crawling fingers with her right, Grant shakes his head. "I don't understand that," he whispers.

She rolls her eyes again, throwing her hands up.

Grant grits his teeth. "Come on. We're sitting ducks here!"

As if on cue, a huge boom sets the house on fire. It sways a little, hanging onto its wood and concrete foundation. The second floor is completely set to an orange blaze, and by strange luck, the garage remains in shape. Looking over to Skye, he remarks, "At least, we still have the garage." He thinks of the sedan—

Then a second boom.

And Skye frowns. "You just had to say it, didn't you?"

He sighs and glances pitifully at the remains of the garage. Then he quickly snaps back to the situation at hand. "We need a car."

They look at each other, and for the first time, Grant sees the resemblance of an agreement. Skye nods at him, and she says, "The Peterson's."

* * *

They make their stealthy way towards Mike Peterson's house, and Skye feels a tiny bit bad about it. She shivers at the slight cold chill messing around with her white blouse and boy shorts, and she wishes that she has something better than rain boots. They break through the side door and enter the garage. No one is thankfully home.

Breathing in the fine smell of musk, she steps inside the Peterson's messy garage and watches as Grant stomps his feet in frustration. Tilting her head, she raises her eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"He had my barbeque set for the last six months," says Grant. He accusingly points to the red objects Skye barely remember. " _Six months_!" Then he turns towards Skye, a surprisingly furious course of anger in his eyes. "Neighbors don't do these things."

"Priorities," she reminds him.

Of all the things he could get upset over, muses Skye, it just has to be this.

"Sorry. Six months." He opens the door of the minivan and finds the key hidden between the sun visor and the car's roof. "Wow. That is a ridiculous place to put the keys." He inserts the key into the engine just as Skye closes the door of the passenger's side. The car turns out, and Grant glances back. He casually says, "It makes me feel a little less bad about stealing the van."

With a push of a button from Grant, the garage door opens behind them. The back window shatters from a sailing bullet, and Grant casually mows down a waiting assassin with a gun in his hands as if he is only drinking coffee or chilled tea. Grant steps out of the car, runs to the back, kicks the assassin for a good measure, and comes back with a gun—Glock 17—in his hands. Hanging the Glock over to Skye, he shakes his head and mutters, "They get younger every year."

"Or we get older," suggests Skye. She can't help but reminded of the rows of young agents shooting their first guns at the firearm range. Her students. They are all fresh-faced, innocent, and… None of them has blood on their hands. Guilt-free. It makes Skye a little envious of them. A little.

He drives over the dead assassin and snorts at Skye. "I'm not going to have a midlife crisis in this minivan, Skye."

"I'm really twenty-eight," she admits. "Not thirty-three."

A pause.

Then Grant says, "I'm not thirty-six years old."

"How old?" presses Skye.

"Thirty-two."

Then he drives.

* * *

 **Sorry about the wait. I'm in my own personal hell right now, and it doesn't seem like I'm getting out any time soon. Work, homework, personal issues, family issues, and bloody studying. The primary fanfic isn't going to be updated until... Tuesday? This fanfic might be a bit sooner than that, but we'll see.**

 **As usual, I would love for you all to leave your comments and reviews at the blank field below. Because I need to know if I'm handling this fic right. Thanks!**


	3. Minivan

**This fanfic is brought to you by... (Okay, I admit that I have been gone for a while because of personal problems, my work, and my main noveling. It's very demanding, and I have finally finished it. It's on Swoon Reads, and for those who are curious enough to see what has took so much of my attention, they can visit the site. Just search Google for Swoon Reads, get an account, and look for "In the Starless Night." Thank you!)**

 **My original fiction: In The Starless Night (YA Fantasy/Romance/Fairy Tale Retelling)**

 **"** _Emotions are weapons._

 _Ashlina Xi knows that better than anyone. She has used them against her grandmother, and she knows she is more than prepared to fight in the chessboard of the afterlife. As a pawn in an unorthodox game of chess, she will need to promote herself to a queen or else she'll lose her freedom._

 _Death or Life._

 _Two courts. Two choices. She can become a reaper of souls or the deliverer of newborns. She just needs to be strong enough to seize the throne._

 _Love is a weakness._

 _But there is her mentor, who is aloof and then warm. The more she spends time in his presence, the more distracted she becomes. When the lines of their mentorship begin to blur and predictions of an incoming war are made, Ashlina will have to make a choice—to let go of him or stay._

 _For better or worse, she will be a queen. She will rise._ **"**

 **If you could just take a look at it and send me your thoughts, I would very much appreciate it. Now, enough of this break and back to the fanfic! (Alert me if you see any plot holes.)**

* * *

They reach the highway easily, without a single hitch. Music plays in the background, and Skye sings along to the songs. After it's finished, she notes, "Remember that song? The DJ played it at our wedding."

"It's beautiful," replies Grant, shaking his head. "We danced to it."

"That guy you ran over…" Skye tilts her head. Her eyes scan the freeway, and there isn't anyone suspicious. At least, not yet. Good thing, too. "Is he Hydra?"

"Asian male. Don't recognize him." A pause. "Must be Whitehall outsourcing to China for additional help." He then turns on the signal light and moves to the next lane.

"What is Daniel Whitehall like? Rude? Mean? Nasty-tempered?"

Turning off the signal light, Grant snorts. "Nothing like that. He seems normal when you first meet him. Good-looking and attractive and soft-spoken. But when you spend a little time with him, you know how off he is. He never gets angry. At least, he doesn't show that he is angry. Tranquil fury. But he does things very thorough. There is this one time back in 2008 when a Hydra officer ran to the CIA for protection. He went after everyone the guy cared about. His mother, his grandparents, his sister, his friends, the cashier who bags his mother's groceries…"

"Seriously?"

"He also went after the substitute teacher of the officer's kid. Seriously, Skye. This guy… You do not mess around with him." Grant glances at the rearview window and adds, "The officer is lucky that his kid is still alive. CIA is still protecting his son, but… everyone else is dead. Just a pile of bodies in that small town."

Skye's stomach churns. "What's going to happen with us? With you? And our neighbors? Because you have gone rogue—"

"Yeah. Everyone is going to die. It doesn't matter whether or not I turn myself in and go back to Hydra. They are still going to punish me. Once you join Hydra, you're in it until death. Anyone who tries to leave will be forced to comply."

"So what are we going to do?" says Skye.

Grant's eyes widen at Skye. "You're not coming with me. It's too dangerous." A pause as he realizes her thoughts. "Skye, it's too dangerous. Go back to Shield. Hydra doesn't know that you work for Shield. Disappear. Always cover your tracks. You'll be perfectly fine, and Hydra will never be able to find you. You'll be safe."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," he replies firmly.

"Storms may come, but the sun will always come up tomorrow," she says, shaking her head. She tightens the grip on her gun. "I'm coming with you. For better or the worse, Grant."

Silence.

Grant whispers, "Thank you."

She shakes her head. "We're in this together." Catching the bright flash in the mirror, she says, "Six o'clock. Three cars. Armored from the looks of them."

Tightening his grip on the wheel, Grant curses and cuts in front of another car. "We have only three guns and a minivan. Hang tight. This is going to get rough."

* * *

It turns out it is _very_ rough.

Bullets bounce off the car in vibrant flashes of light, and in the back of the minivan, Skye shouts, "They're bulletproof!"

Clearly not hearing her words, Grant screams, "They're bulletproof!"

She rolls her eyes and then fires the Smith & Wesson again, taking a much careful aim. Just when she is about to shoot, the car swerves wildly. Hissing in annoyance, she blinks and hollers, "Grant! Damn it, hold steady! I can't aim correctly with your driving!"

Her powers are much more accurate and has a wider range than her shooting. But she isn't going to use them when the cars are at least ten feet apart from each other. A little closer…

"Transmission is horrible! How the hell does anybody drive these things?" he screams, turning the wheel once again. The car swerves again, and Grant honks loudly for a good measure. His hands turn slightly orange, and for a brief moment, Skye wonders how he ever managed to hide his fiery abilities from her.

How did she not know? Or see?

Skye moves back to the driver's seat. She pats his thigh, screaming her throat hoarse at him while assassins are shooting at them. "Grant! Switch places!"

Grant pauses.

Skye shouts out some more, forgoing gentle persuasion. "Seriously! I know how to drive these things! I drive one to work!" She then drops the Smith & Wesson in his hand. "This is your gun! You know how to use these things. "

After a quick moment that seems to last forever, Grant nods. Skye quickly moves on top of him, and she resists the urge to kiss him on the mouth. She steps on the gas pedal and takes control of the wheel. Grant goes to the back, and she could hear him shooting at the cars chasing them. The wind blows wildly, and Skye grits her teeth as she decreases her speed.

"Incoming! Your side!" shouts Grant.

"Hold on," yells Skye. Moving her hand to the sliding door's lock, she then slams on the brakes, and the van stops nearly immediately. The sliding door opens, and she could hear a shot fired by Grant. The unknown assailant slows down his car and then speeds up again. This time, he slams against the van, but not to her surprise, the door stays.

"Buckle up!" she hollers. She eyes the rear view window and slams the door against the black armored SUV with a furious twist of her wrist. Their doors begin to wrinkle yet the van has little damages. The doors hold still, and she smiles as Grant shouts a familiar _what in the world?_ comment. "Steel-reinforced side-impact intrusion-beams! Standard on all '99 minivans!"

"How did you know that?" shouts Grant, shooting again.

"Mindy Peterson!" she replies, accelerating the van and cutting in front of a driver. She ignores his vulgar curses about her bad driving and continues making good distance. She briefly checks the gas. A bit over half-full. Thank goodness for Mindy's habit of keeping a full tank in the van. "She was thinking of buying one for her child. And her next kid! You know, those dinner parties at the neighbors are really starting to pay off!"

Grant closes the side door and begins shooting again. He playfully jabs, "So you really weren't snoring while Mindy was pratting on about daycare centers!"

Skye rolls her eyes. She admits to herself that she has dosed off once in a while. It's kind of hard to pay attention when she doesn't have a kid and has no clear reason to gather information on the best daycares in New York.

* * *

Seriously. Grant sighs as he aims again and tries to guess the position of the black convertible. It's harder to shoot when there's a moving target. It's even harder to shoot when he has a very unstable position. The minivan keeps on moving in and out of traffic, and though Skye is much better at driving the van, the assassins are forcing them to never stay as still as possible. Grant grits his teeth, partially hiding his face behind the backseats of the van. He carefully shoots again.

This time, it hits the front wheel of the black sedan. It shakes, and then the car hits the highway block next to it. He grins a little. That is a good shot, he acknowledges.

Suddenly, another black sedan comes up on the left side of the van. Grant watches curiously as an assassin leans over and opens the sliding door.

"Incoming!" shouts Skye.

Grant quickly moves into action, and he opens the other side of the door. The assassin jumps in, and Grant shoves him out. Sparks fly off his fingertips, and the assassin's shirt is set aflame. With a little smile, he screams back, "And outgoing!" He resists a laugh. "Wow, these doors are handy!"

He shuts the door and watches as two cars slam into the minivan at the same time. He holds tight to the hanger, trying not to let the forces push him in the wrong direction. He says, "Skye!"

"I got it!" she yells back. The van slows down and then shoots forward.

Grant hangs tightly as the car shakes back and forth. He wishes that he is in the driver's seat, but no. Unfortunately, not. The car loses the assassins, and he tries to aim at the driver's head again. "I got them!"

Suddenly, the car swerves wildly, and Grant nearly lets go of his grip. Amazingly, Skye raises her bare hand and a pulsing wave—there are no other words he could describe it—moves through the air and sends the remaining convertibles into nasty flips. They crash into other cars, fire burning in the engines. He could feel the heat, even from this far.

And it only takes gasoline and a spark to cause a bang.

Grant drops his jaw. That is…

Legendary.

Different.

He has never seen anything quite like it.

"So when were you going to tell me that you're an Inhuman?" He climbs into the passenger seat, the gun a bit slack in his hold.

Skye gives him a small shrug. "I have been an Inhuman for a while."

It's almost silence except for the radio singing about love through the battered but not broken speakers. Then the song comes to a close, and Grant takes his cue.

With shaking limbs and an iron stomach, he remarks, "Wow." A pause. "We were good back there."

"What did you expect?" inquires Skye.

"I almost always work alone," he finally answers, taking a swift glance at her.

"No kidding."

A pause.

Then Grant takes a step forward. A very careful, considerate, figurative step forward. "The way we worked together. It was…"

"Pretty good?" finishes Skye. "What's your point?"

"Hydra is after both of us," points out Grant, glancing out of the window. He fiddles with the gun, already dismantling it and mantling it again. It's a nervous habit, but it's one that will always stay with him—or so it seems. "And you know, there is strength in numbers."

More silence.

Then he continues, "You know, teamwork. Together. We could just… try it."

To his relief, Skye only says, "For now."

"Right," he quickly replies, nodding with relief. "See where it goes."

"Right. See where it goes."

* * *

 **Yes! I updated at last. I'm so sorry about this wait. I'm not giving up on this story (or the main fic), but I admit that I'm struggling through my personal problems and my work. When I find free time, I'll try to keep updating this.**

 **Thanks for reading and sticking with me.**


	4. Author's Notes

I would like to apologize for anyone who has been following this story. I find myself unable to finish this story ever since what happened to Grant Ward at the end of Season 3. I was okay with him being Hive, but I'm not okay. . .

With whatever happened in that season. I can't even talk about it. If anyone would like to finish this story, PM me and I'll send you the entire doc of this. I'll be labeling this as "Complete" but in the descriptions, it will say abandoned.

Thank you.


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